


A Love So Broken

by FantasySwap



Category: Chatroom (2010)
Genre: Face Slapping, Hair Pulling, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Past Suicidal Thoughts, handjobs, past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 06:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14466882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasySwap/pseuds/FantasySwap
Summary: William thinks he loves Jim. He thinks this as he stands over the boy, his hand fisted so tightly in Jim’s hair that his knuckles are turning white.There are tears in Jim’s eyes, tears streaming over his forehead as his head is yanked backwards; his neck is on display for William and he’s completely naked save for a pair of boxers.He’s the most beautiful thing William has ever seen, and the desire to hurt him is almost overwhelming.





	A Love So Broken

**Author's Note:**

> I should be revising or working on To The Core I should not be writing fan fiction for a fandom that peaked eight years ago what am I DOING
> 
> ANYway… if you haven’t seen the film Chatroom I highly recommend it, it stars Aaron Taylor Johnson and Mathew Beard in this kind of twisted, psychological horror? I love it anyways definitely go check it out.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

William thinks he might be in love with Jim. He’s never loved anybody before; not his father or his brother or any of his so called friends from years ago. He thinks he might have loved his mother once, a long time ago, but too many years of disappointment carefully concealed as disapproval have left William numb to feeling anything at all.

And then he met Jim, and he told himself that it was hatred. Jim reminded William of everything he used to be and for that William hated him— wanted to destroy the memory of long nights and sharp blades, and to do that he needed to destroy Jim. No matter what he felt for the boy.

Yet… as he stood there, with Jim’s face in his hands, the idea of Jim being _gone_ left a sour taste in William’s mouth, and a gaping sort of empty pain in his chest. He was torn between licking the tears from Jim’s face and digging his fingernails into the boy’s cheek to force more out. He was beautiful in every single way that William was ugly: he was lanky and frightened with dull eyes and floppy hair, but William could tell even then that Jim was beautiful.

William wanted his energy - still does - needs it desperately like he needs food and water and oxygen. He needs Jim, and his openness and his naivety. Jim is supposed to be the needy one here, supposed to be the one that needs William, but William knows it’s the other way round. Jim would be better of without him, but without Jim William would crumble into pieces.

So yeah, William thinks he loves Jim. He thinks this as he stands over the boy, his hand fisted so tightly in Jim’s hair that his knuckles are turning white. There are tears in Jim’s eyes, tears streaming over his forehead as his head is yanked backwards; his neck is on display for William and he’s completely naked save for a pair of boxers. He’s the most beautiful thing William has ever seen, and the desire to hurt him is almost overwhelming.

He’s not being gentle with him - he has never been gentle with Jim - but Jim doesn’t need gentle. It’s not what he wants either; William must be the luckiest person alive to have struck gold with Jim like this. Somehow it’s easier to believe he isn’t so fucked up for wanting to hurt Jim, not when Jim is down on his knees looking so pretty, and begging so sweetly to be hurt.

“William,” Jim breathes, his voice breaking. William responds by jerking his hand, letting Jim’s head be pulled backwards violently. They only started twenty minutes ago and already William can see how desperate he is to come: his dick is straining at the fabric of his boxers and there’s a wet patch forming where the head must be.

“Shut up.” He hisses, circling around until he’s standing in front of Jim. He has let go of the boy’s hair now, reluctantly, and hides his amusement at the fact that it stays sticking up. Sweat lines Jim’s forehead and he’s panting: William knows that if he gave Jim permission to move, the boy would be doubled over right now. He just has to say the word and Jim will reach a hand into his boxers and stroke himself, will come when William says to come, will cry when William says to cry.

Similarly, if William tells him not to, Jim won’t. If William says not to move, and to shut up, then Jim will sit there in silence until William decides he deserves to move. It’s more power than William has had over anything in his life for such a long time and it sends a rush of endorphins to his head, a rush of blood to his cock. He wants Jim so badly but he knows - he knows - that the only way he could fuck Jim is sweetly. If Jim gives himself over completely to William like that then William knows he’ll sob, break down, touch Jim more reverently as he’s ever touched anything.

William _knows_ he loves Jim, but after what he did to him the other boy will never love him back. All William can do is give him this, this one thing that Jim is starving for and seems to be unable to go anywhere else for. William can give this to him so well that he’ll never want to go anywhere else for it, that he’ll keep coming back.

“You wanna come, right?” William sneers, lifting one bare foot and resting it carefully over Jim’s clothed erection. Sometimes it’s barely a whisper of sensation, a light caress with his heel or his toes. This time he presses down hard, exerts as much force as he can without hurting Jim more than he can take. William knows Jim’s limits by now— knows how much he can hurt the boy before Jim tells him to stop. Jim doesn’t tell him to stop.

He does cry out, hips jerking forward and then backwards like he doesn’t know whether he should try to escape the feeling or search for more of it. His eyes squeeze shut and his tongue darts out to wet his lips: he locked wrecked, panting and nodding and desperate.

“ _Yes_ , William _please_. Yes, I need to come, _please_ —”

William cuts him off with a slap, his hand cracking against Jim’s face with a sound that ricochets off the walls of Jim’s tiny bedroom. Over the top of Jim’s head William can see his fish tank, the lone goldfish in there swimming around and around pointlessly. William wonders if Jim ever felt like that: like he was in a glass bowl with William standing outside it, always seeing and hearing and knowing what he was doing.

Jim swallows his whimper. William told him to shut up, and he broke that rule: he understands why he had to be punished. William knows if Jim wanted him to stop then he would say so, and Jim knows that if he told William to stop then he would stop. Maybe they’re fucked up for not wanting to stop, but when Jim bites his lip and exhales loudly William can’t help but run a hand over his own dick just to take the edge of.

He’s fully clothed compared to Jim: he’s taken his jacket and socks off - took his shoes off at the door, one of Jim’s mother’s house rules - and is standing there in a short sleeved t-shirt and skinny jeans. He’s tenting the front of them but he won’t take them off; he has more power this way. More authority.

“Did I say you could speak?” William asks, his tone genuinely curious. Jim opens his mouth as though to say something and then thinks better of it, bites his lip and shakes his head submissively. William relents, rush of fondness taking over, and pats Jim’s head. He scratches fingernails over his scalp gently, brushes a thumb over his cheek to soothe the sting of the slap. Jim melts into it, going loose and malleable from his place on the floor.

“You do, don’t you?” William tilts his head and smiles at Jim when the boy frowns, confused. All his teeth are showing: he wonders if he looks like a predator.

“Come.” He clarifies at Jim’s confused expression. “You need to come, don’t you.”

Jim’s nod is so enthusiastic that William considers making him wait longer, drawing this out. He could fuck Jim’s mouth and not let him come until William himself has come, but he’s feeling particularly fond today and the urge to take care of Jim outweighs the urge to make him suffer.

“Up.” He commands in a steely voice, watching, satisfied, as Jim clambers to his feet. The boy is shaky, unsteady on his legs like a newborn deer. He looks the same: eyes wide and frightened with tears spilling over and down his cheeks, panting hard. He looks like he did the day William chased him through the street and along the canal. It makes him wince, so he grabs a handful of Jim’s hair and tugs him forward savagely, kissing him so ferociously that their teeth click.

Jim moans into his mouth and he swallows the sound, working a hand into the boy’s boxers. He moans when William gets a hand around his dick, hips pumping forward in a silent plea; William strokes him hard and fast and just on the wrong side of painful, thumbs the slit with his fingernail until Jim gasps out, high pitched and pained.

“Come.” William commands, and Jim does. He cries out and slumps forward, head resting on William’s shoulder as he falls apart. William’s hand is sticky and the inside of Jim’s boxers are a mess, soaked through with sweat and come. Jim slides down to his knees and waits as William wrestled him own jeans and underwear down to his thighs. He pulls his cock out and strokes it, fingers wrapped tight around it; he’s already wound up by watching Jim fall apart for him and using the boy’s come to slick up his own cock is so erotic to William that he’s coming after only a few strokes. He wonders whether it would have felt the same if it was Jim’s blood he was using instead of his come.

William is silent when he comes - the only indication that he’s enjoying it at all is that his mouth hangs open, frozen on a silent scream - but Jim moans. Normally William would close his eyes during an orgasm but with Jim he keeps them open, likes to see his come shoot across the boy’s face. Some of it gets stuck in his eyelashes and hair but a fair amount lands over his lips. He licks that up, swallowing and keeping eye contact with William throughout.

When they’re both cleaned up, Jim buries his head in William’s chest and digs his blunt fingernails into his bicep.

“You could stay.” He tells William, less like a offer and more like a question. “Meet my mum. You could have dinner with us, if you wanted.”

William swallows, catches sight of the fish tank over Jim’s shoulder and thinks of how much he loves Jim and how much it will hurt knowing Jim can never feel that way about William. He thinks of his own home, his cold parents waiting at the dinner table and Perfect Ripley with his Perfect Fiancé. He wants to throw up.

“No.” He says, and leaves without saying goodbye.

***

William hates his family. He hates his father who called him a fuck up, he hates his brother who was so perfect that he was all their parents ever cared about. He hates his mother for breaking his heart, for making him go to therapy, for being the only reason he stayed alive for so long and then turning her back on him when he thought maybe he had a shot at life.

He watches them as they sit at the dinner table, picking at their food and making meaningless conversation. Ripley’s fiancé isn’t there thankfully, but the rest of them are. William does his best to make himself invisible, tries to sink into the background so that they don’t think to try and pull him into the conversation. There’s no chance of that, he thinks, half bitterly and half gratefully.

William leaves once his father does. He is the only person that would berate William for leaving whilst the rest of them are still eating, and when he leaves William is free to return to his room. He doesn’t have a computer anymore - parents had taken it away after he came back from hospital, arm in a sling and the sound of a train horn still ringing in his ears - but he does have a phone. He doesn’t know whether his parents are aware of it or not, but William will be eighteen in a few weeks and then he can finally move out.

He has no idea where he will go, but he knows he can’t stay here with this family that should be anyone else’s.

There are two notifications waiting for him: a general one from _Chelsea Teens!_ telling him that he hasn’t been active in a while, and one from Jim. William’s heart speeds up a little and he finds his fingers are trembling when he tries to unlock his phone.

 _Mum out_ , it reads. _Come over?_

William texts back that he’s on his way over, and he leaves without telling his parents where he’s going.

He has loved Jim’s house ever since he first set foot there: it’s cosy in the way that a house should be. It’s well lived in, even though Jim and his mother have been through many tough times. William loves Jim’s room especially— it’s always so messy, like someone has taken the contents of the boy’s drawers and tipped them all over the floor. It’s so _personal_ ; it’s everything that William’s house is not.

“How are you?” Jim asks, genuine concern in his voice as he leads them into his bedroom. It’s dark out - William will be going home late tonight - and when Jim draws the blinds it feels shockingly intimate.

“Fine.” William shrugs, voice sullen. “What do you need from me?”

Jim frowns, shaking his head.

“Nothing. I mean— we can, if you want… I just. I thought you might want to watch a movie or something. I have pizza.” Jim isn’t looking at him as he says all this, his eyes trained on the door as though he’s planning several ways to escape.

William’s chest constricts. This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen, Jim isn’t supposed to want to spend time with William eating pizza and watching films. Jim wants what William can give him, the blissful nothingness that comes with surrendering completely, because Jim will never love William. William has spent months convincing himself of this, after he stopped trying to destroy the boy. To hear this now, to be forced to turn this down to stop himself from being hurt later, it breaks William’s heart all over again.

It makes him angry.

“No.” He says simply, unmoving. Jim blinks, surprised hurt flickering across his features. Jim has always been so easy to read, once he let William in. Those first few weeks on the chat he was a mystery, but all William had to do to get him to talk was be there for him. Be his friend. And now it’s coming back to bite him in the ass.

“Why not?” Jim asks, as though he’d been expecting this answer and yet… not expecting this answer. On the bed the box of pizza lies unopened, as though Jim had ordered it specifically for them to eat.

William doesn’t really have an answer to that that doesn’t involve spilling his guts, so he presses his lips together in a thin line. It would be so easy to stay right now, to pull Jim into a hug or to order him to get to his knees. To _keep_ him.

“ _William_.” Jim begs, stepping closer and lifting a hand as though to touch William’s face. He reacts before he knows what he’s doing, grabbing Jim’s wrist and squeezing painfully. Jim is so tiny that William’s thumb and fingers overlap, and he knows that if he were to squeeze any harder than this he could break Jim’s wrist. He doesn’t want to do that, guilt churns in his stomach at the thought of it, but at the same time he does. This feels therapeutic somehow; the the strange, settling sense of calm that he used to get when he cut himself descends over him again and he’s squeezing, feeling the bones move under the delicate skin.

“ _Stop_.” Jim hisses, and William lets go immediately, stumbling backwards. “That’s all you want, right?”

William feels like he’s been slapped, thinks maybe it would be better if he could feel the stinging, pinching pain against his skin than this gnawing chasm inside his chest. Maybe he’d even enjoy it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” William snaps back at him, advancing upon the boy until Jim is pressed back against the wall and William is looking over him, an intimidating presence. “You think I want to… what? What do you think?”

“Fuck it.” Jim spits at him in the same voice that, just a few months ago, had told him ‘ _this was never about me, William._ ’ “Forget it. Just go then.”

This is the last thing William wants to do. He reaches up, gets both of his hands on Jim’s face and shakes him; tears roll down his face and drip from his nose and so this time William follows them with his tongue, licking them up before they can fall. He knocks their foreheads together: they’re breathing the same air.

“Don’t you _understand_?” William grunts out. He remembers saying those exact words to Jim a few months ago, remembers holding a gun under the boy’s chin and kissing his lips as he told Jim to kill himself. Jim suddenly feels so fragile, so breakable under William’s hands. Something precious, something to be treasured.

“After everything I _made you do_ —” William starts to say, but Jim surges up to kiss him before he can finish. It’s messy: deep and slow and filthy and William forgets entirely what he was going to say.

When they pull back, William expects Jim will tell him to leave. He has already resigned himself to never hearing from the boy again, but if that kiss is the last thing Jim will ever give him then William will consider himself lucky.

Jim wraps his arms around William.

“God, you’re a fucking idiot.” He tells William, and it’s different to the times someone has said that to William in the past. His father, Ripley, people at school… Jim’s voice, whilst miserable, holds a hint of amusement that settles William’s nerves. Uncertainly, William wraps his arms around Jim: one hand on the small of his back and the other resting gently on the back of the boy’s head.

“Don’t go.” Jim’s voice is small, muffled against William’s chest. William leads him over to the bed and draws Jim’s laptop closer to them. William has no intention of leaving, knows the walls he has put up inside himself are breaking down and he knows there’s nothing he can do about it now.

“What film did you have in mind?”

Halfway through the film, once they’ve finished the pizza and are curled together under the duvet, William mumbles apologies into Jim’s hair, presses his lips against the boy’s temple and wraps an arm around his waist a little to tight to be anything but possessive. There are already bruises forming around Jim’s wrist and he tries to seem contrite about it, and not like it sets alight some sick satisfaction.

Jim shuts him up with a kiss.

***

William loves Jim. He knows that now: it’s a twisted love, one that enjoys seeing Jim in pain as much as it enjoys seeing him happy. He’s never loved anybody like he loves Jim and he doesn’t think he ever will, but when Jim gets down on his knees for William, begs him so prettily to hurt him, William feels it in his core.

This is what he was meant to do: take care of Jim like this, the way no one else can.

 _Now_.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought in the comments! <3


End file.
